The day before we moved out of the townhouse in Virginia, I was getting packed. I, of course, wasn't doing it myself because we could afford it and well... LAZY.
At 8 am a crew of 4 Latin dudes walked into the house overjoyed *ahem* about the task ahead of them. After walking them through the house, telling them about my little system "Pink Post-it means dont pack. Everything else goes in a box. Ok? Si?" The leader of the pack asked me a question: "Do you speak spanish?" Which is really code for "can we talk about you behind your back without you knowing?" I answered, "Nope." I mean I picked up on some words listening to my mom and grandma having conversations when I was a kid, but I cannot carry on a conversation by any means. For whatever reason, I never really cared to learn the language. I mean I took FRENCH in high school. IN SAN ANTONIO. Idiot.
Anyway, so throughout the day, I'd hear the word "Puta" and see something of MINE in their hands. Puta, of course, meaning "whore" or "prostitute." Nice, huh? I let it go though, I mean, whatever. Disrespect runs rampant these days anyway. And I DID tell them that I didnt speak english. But really who doesnt know the bad words? Come on.
Later, I was sitting in my freshly packed kitchen on my laptop working. The leader of the pack was in the hallway packing up the half-bath. One of the other dudes comes downstairs says something to the leader of the pack. I heard the word "Puta" again. I could tell from what very little spanish I know and his body language that he was saying "The stupid bitch didnt leave any cups for water."
I pipe up "OH! You're right! I totally forgot to set aside the plastic cups!"
The leader of the pack's face drained of all color. He nervously smiled and chuckled and said "Oh uh... thats ok..." He looked at the other dude in horror.
I ran out to McDonald's and bought some sodas and some empty cups, came back and handed them out with a big smile on my face, no one really looking at me in the eyes.
They took the entire day to pack us up. They loaded up our truck the next day. They packed up and moved my parents into the townhouse the following week. From that moment in the kitchen on, I never heard the word "Puta" again.
Tricia: 1, Morons: 0.